I take his advice, turning to the food I had been neglecting. I notice that, again, the only available drink is water. I try to ignore my irritation while eating the toast and oatmeal provided.
While eating, I briefly think over the announcement. [I'm actually pretty happy about this opportunity. I should hopefully be able to make use of my greatest advantage, my leveling bonus. Hopefully I can level up some other skills and practice my swordsmanship as well.]
Thinking that, I realize that I haven't checked my stats in some time. I open up the little window and look over them.
Name: unnamed
Level: 16
Race: Human
Class/Job: Slave
Skills: Greater Pain Resistance Lvl. 8, Master Madness Lvl. 4, Moderate Sight Enhancement Lvl. 6, Lesser Hearing Enhancement Lvl. 8, Moderate Resistance Lvl. 1, Moderate Heat Resistance Lvl. 6, Lesser Cold Resistance Lvl. 6, Moderate Thirst Nullification Lvl. 7, Lesser Hunger Nullification Lvl. 5, Lesser Sleep Nullification Lvl. 9, Moderate Swordsmanship Lvl. 9, Lesser Melee Magic Conduction Lvl. 3, Magic Sensory Lvl. 2, Lesser Elemental Manipulation Lvl. 2, Lesser Mental Attack Resistance Lvl. 2, Lesser Chaos Lvl. 1, Lesser Analysis Lvl. 1, Lesser Suffocation Resistance Lvl. 1, Lesser Wrath Lvl. 1, Lesser Strength Lvl. 3, Lesser Speed Lvl. 1
Aside from a few small level ups to my skills, alongside my own level increasing to level 16, there are very few surprises.
While eating, I continue to ask Jorgenson questions, being careful to avoid looking like I know nothing of this world. I am unsure whether to be thankful that he doesn't know the answer to many of them, or merely irritated. On one hand, he can't answer many of my questions, limiting my knowledge gain. On the other hand, I am asking questions that he, a resident of this world, also doesn't know the answer to, hopefully making me look less suspicious than I would if the answers were obvious.
Breakfast again comes to a close, and I make my way over to the strength training field.
There I find myself with the rest of the class, the strength instructor waiting for its scheduled start time. When that time arrives, he then calls me to the front again.
Like yesterday, we devote the day to lifting boulders, though I notice that the others' boulders are a bit larger than usual; clearly he's keeping his promise to increase the difficulty. I initially intend to forcefully level my strength skill by straining against the boulder while trying to lift it, as I did yesterday. However, this time he gave me a reasonably sized rock that I can just barely lift, ruining my plan. I still lift it until my arms give out and he is forced to use a healing potion on me, though. Sadly, my strength skill level doesn't increase.
Like yesterday, the endurance training is rather basic and unnoteworthy. My Lesser Speed does reach level 2, which I am rather happy about.
From there, I head over to the swordsmanship training field, hopeful that we may actually learn something today, other than the fact that our instructor is a murderous psychopath.
My hopes are quickly dashed by his introductory phrase: "Soldiers. I hope you have been practicing the blade in your free time. We do not have the luxury of time necessary to only practice during your assigned training period. So, now, pair up and fight. Do not worry about delivering injuries: non-fatal blows can be healed and fatal blows will weed out those unfit to pursue the art of the blade."
[Mock battles already?! Seemingly relying on fate to determine who will even survive?! This guy seems to forget that he has not even taught us literally anything yet!]
As I consider raising a complaint, I am beat to it by a young man in his early twenties with shoulder length brown hair. "Sir, how are we to fight when we have thus far received no actual training?"
"The training will come in as I correct your mistakes. I believe in learning from the blade, in the heat of combat; such is how I learned and how many of this world's finest swordsmen have learned. I could, and can, wax poetic on the beauty of the art of the blade before scientifically explaining the best moves as I have experienced. However, nothing can compare to learning through doing, in failing and learning from your own failures."
Much of the class seems rather convinced by his words; however, among these, I am not included. [Yeah, that sounds nice in theory and all, but we will be forced onto the battlefield in only a few months and currently have no knowledge, for the most part, in the art of the sword. Perhaps if we had time, your method may work, but as it is, it is only a fast method to ensure the greatest possible percentage of us die upon taking the field, incapable of even properly wielding our weapon. This man is an awful instructor!]
Thankfully, he is not finished. "That said, one day in three will still be devoted to teaching proper form and stances, as well as certain tried-and-true methods that I have found useful; for us, that would be tomorrow; however, as you heard at breakfast, we will be clearing out monsters tomorrow. So, the day after, I will show you the 'basics.' Simply put, our time together today would simply be inadequate to prepare you for battle tomorrow with this method, and so it would be best if you learned a bit from applied training today."
[Alright, I guess that does make sense. I am quite rusty with the blade; while I was once one of the greatest practitioners of western swordsmanship on Earth, that was many years ago. And even at my prime, this instructor is certainly better than I ever was. After all, fighting as a strange hobby on Earth is quite different from here, where it may well be the difference between life and death.]
My partner is, of course, Jorgenson. "Don't kill me," he says, only half joking.
I laugh "My skill is not on such a level that I could kill you by accident."
"Well, I suppose that's true. You are undoubtedly the most capable student here."
Noticing that he has not even drawn his sword, I reply "Well, I spent much of my free time practicing my swordsmanship before coming here. Anyway, stop stalling! We need to improve our skills."
He draws his sword, before holding it steady, its point directed at me. And from there we begin to practice. He is, of course, not my match. That said, he also isn't wholly incapable, and fighting against him does seem to be a good warmup.
The instructor comes over after we have been fighting one another in mock duels for nearly an hour. He watches silently as I defeat Jorgenson with relative ease. I had been being defensive for the past few matches, focusing on parrying and dodging his attacks. When he had grown quite tired, I switched to a much more aggressive style, quickly bringing myself to victory.
Jorgenson gasps in breaths of air, my sword positioned a hair's breadth from his neck, him kneeling before me. Only then does he surrender.
I turn to the instructor, who I had ignored while I was fighting. He looks to me first, simply saying "good form." He then turns to Jorgenson. "Perhaps if you spent as much time practicing as you do complaining about my methods, you would be more capable with your weapon."
He leaves then, Jorgenson all-to-obviously downcast. To be honest, I'm not really sure why he would feel bad being told off by someone who is clearly so psychopathic. I almost say something to Jorgenson about such, but I don't want the instructor to overhear and make trouble for me again, so I hold my tongue.
At least, that's what the rational part of me decides to do. My Wrath skill instead decides to act up, unable to ignore that a psychopath just had the gall to make a rude comment towards the absolute best person that I have met in my time in this world.
My vision tinges with red as I clamp my mouth shut, trying to avoid something that I may regret. Thankfully my rational side wins out, leaving me covered in sweat from my mental battle with my unwanted skill.
"Are you alright?" Jorgenson asks, no longer looking at all downcast by the psychopath's words.
Judging the murderer to be far enough away, I respond "Well, I was struggling very hard not to point out that that [murderer] is entirely at fault for any lack in skill that you demonstrate, considering that it is literally his job to teach you swordsmanship. I suppose that I saw you upset and was simply so infuriated that it was a literal mental battle to keep from saying anything."
I mean, I could just mention my Wrath skill, but I'd rather not mention that I possess a skill with such a scary sounding name. Actually, speaking of which, the effects are already this powerful when it's at such a low level, which begs the question of how strongly I will be influenced if this skill is allowed to level.
Jorgenson replies, saying "Oh, I was just pretending to be affected by what he said, to try to mitigate conflict. And he's probably right, you know. I really shouldn't be talking about him so poorly. Anyway, no reason to worry about me, especially to the point of having an internal conflict over it."
[If only I had a choice!] "Yeah, I suppose that you are right. It's just that I simply couldn't stand an insult towards my friend, no matter how tame." I casually slide the word [friend] in. I mean, who doesn't want more allies in hostile scenarios, eh? Furthermore, if he considers me a friend then it should ensure long term access to his knowledge. I mean, I should probably feel kind of bad for trying to use him to such a degree, but one must remember that the only goal worth achieving is to avoid death, and if taking advantage of others aids in that goal, then so be it.
He replies, making no comment on my use of the word, "Well, we better get back to work. If I don't figure out at least the basics today then I might very well die in combat with monsters tomorrow."
I take him up on his recommendation, and we continue to spar. I can feel my rustiness slowly fade away as our matches continue on. I had honestly forgotten how much I enjoyed this feeling. The last decade or so of my previous life, waiting on death row, had been wholly devoid of any swordplay on my part, so it's no wonder that my skills are more than a bit rusty. Still, I am forced to question whether my opponent has ever even held a sword before today as I soundly beat him again and again. If I had fought him as an opponent in my younger years, I would most certainly laugh at his ineptitude. However, now I simply want to be an opponent that he can practice on in hopes of surviving tomorrow. To be honest, when I compare him with the gnork and goblins that represent the full extent of my monster fighting in this world, I am not very optimistic about his chances.
[Well, I guess I can always stick together with him tomorrow… but what if that hinders my own growth? Well, I doubt that it will take that much out of my efficiency in leveling to keep an eye on him. Hmm… To be truthful, the benefit that he gives as a source of information isn't actually all that useful when compared to my master, Sir Lector. It would almost certainly be more beneficial to my long term growth to level up as many times as possible tomorrow and just let nature take its toll with Jorgenson… I mean, there is a very real chance that he wouldn't die even without my protection…
Bah! I can't do that. Jorgenson is just such a good guy, and so friendly, too; to let him die just to focus on my own development would be wrong. I am hardly the center of the universe; so long as it does not much impede on my desire to not die, I ought to do what's right; in this case, of course, such would be to protect Jorgenson.]
With that decided, I return to practicing with Jorgenson with renewed vigor. I figure that the more capable he is come tomorrow, the less effort I will have to devote to protecting him and so the more I will be able to increase my level; therefore, I begin interspersing what are hopefully helpful hints into our matches.
He actually seems to take advantage of some of these, his form improving noticeably in the hour we have left before this 'class' is over.
When our instructor/commander/resident psychopath calls an end to the sparring, we back away from our current duel. He is covered in sweat and breathing deeply. I, on the other hand, am doing surprisingly well still.
[Well, what is the purpose of sweat? It is to cool down. What, then, would be the effect of my heat resistance on my need to sweat? Of course, it would be reduced! What a useful skill. And, of course, loss of water through sweat and overheating are some primary causes of exhaustion; it stands to reason that I would generally have greater endurance in physical activity due to this skill as well. It's a shame that it did not once level up over the course of our fight, though perhaps not surprising. After all, to get it to its current level I had to wander a desert for days with no water. Some mere heavy physical activity for a few hours obviously cannot compare.]